


Glory, Glory

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cockwarming, M/M, Trans Male Reader, trans reader (ftm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: After using you as a cockwarmer for hours and ignoring every attempt you made to convince him otherwise, Valerius finally gives his good boy the reward you deserve. Lots of verbal praise and worship, while still containing the standard filthy level of dirty talk you would expect from me.





	Glory, Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a request for the smutty drabble game on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights). Anon requested Valerius x trans reader (ftm), with the prompt "you’re so hugging my cock so nicely, i don’t want to move just yet.”
> 
> Based off the information provided, I wrote the reader a trans male who uses he/him pronouns and who has had top surgery. For the penetration parts, a specific reference to a front or back hole is not made, so you can enjoy either!

“Mmmm, you’re hugging my cock so nicely, little one. So warm and wet around me. Have you always been so perfect, such a good boy?”

Valerius sighs into your neck, a long and drawn out sound that seeps into the end of every nerve in your body, that you can just barely hear shaking in its last few moments—or perhaps that is just your wishful thinking.

You keen, so quietly, at the feel of being stretched around the base of his cock, at it being seated so completely inside of you. You want so desperately for him to move, and you have been begging in every way you know without your words—shifting your hips, squeezing his cock, letting out soft little mewls—but he has refused you each and every time. 

And this time is no different. He smiles into your neck and releases another content sigh at your frustration. His lips are a little cracked from the warm day, dragging along your pulse as he begins yet another trail along the underside of your jaw while he speaks to you.

“Such a good pet who deserves all the pleasure I can give him…but I don’t want to move just yet.”

He is merciful, though, and he seems to know that you are growing restless and you need something to placate you. He drags his fingertips through your hair as you lean back against his chest, then flattens his palms and smooths them down over your neck, your shoulders, your scarred chest and down still, taking in every inch of your warmth.

You reach back, slow and unsure, to slide your fingers into his hair. He tenses against you, always so particular about his hair, but it is something he has grown to love you doing, especially when you are pulling just enough to guide him when he fucks you with his mouth and tongue, or when you are tugging softly to tell him without words _yes,_ or _thank you, _or _I love you._

You feel him twitch inside of you, reminding you of the frustrating stretch of him and the even more maddening knowledge of his resolve, that he hasn’t fucked you in all the time he has been inside of you despite every one of your best efforts.

Though perhaps you hadn’t truly been putting in your _best_ efforts, enjoying the torture of it just a fraction more than the frustration. He has held you like this, been buried completely inside of you for so long, hours maybe, while he has worked and held you and sighed into your neck. You could never quite tell which you enjoyed the more—the euphoria of your release exactly when you want it, or the warmth that flushed your entire body when he called you his _good boy_ for doing exactly as he asked and making him so happy.

“Do you want me to move, little one?”

You feel him smile into your shoulder, or maybe it’s finally one of his trademark smirks finally breaking through. You whine in response, and it is a little brattier and far more desperate than you had intended.

_There can never be another one for me quite as glorious as you, _he had murmured to you when he had first nudged the head of his cock against you, when he had asked to be warmed by you while he read his papers for the evening.

He had promised to reward you, call you his good pet, his good boy, praise you for your warmth and marvel at your body, but now—so many hours later, twitching and shuddering around him and only wanting him to move—you are struggling to see the light at the end of that tunnel.

Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, feels like an electric shock of white-hot need jolting through you. He has a map to your body—every proud and wondrous inch of it—ingrained in his fingertips, to be used only at his whim and pleasure.

With that map, he could very well drag out your frustration and torture until dawn breaks the city—and by gods if you weren’t a desperate, pathetic mess in his hands who would very much let him.

“Well?” He asks. A familiar edge has lilted his voice, one that makes something inside of you stir, the part that recognises his different tones and the promises they bring. “Shall I move, little one? Have you been a good boy?”

You nod, and he shifts beneath you, giving you the first iota of movement in so long; you swallow a whimper, but that only stirs something inside of _him_. 

“Don’t ever hide from me,” he murmurs quietly into your shoulder. “No sounds, no sighs, no words. All of you is mine, a gift I will take and devour without question, understood?”

You nod again, he lifts his head to press his nose into your hair.

And then he begins moving.

It is so slow at first so as not to startle you, to make sure you are still adjusted around him, slick and ready to stretch and squeeze his cock. His hands are on your hips, steadying you, holding you there so he can thrust in and out at a slow, intimate pace. Every thrust comes with a groan, a murmur of your name, something to tell you how good it feels.

“Do need more of me, more of my cock?” He croons to you. “I want you to take all of it, I need to fuck every inch of your insides until you are screaming out for the entire city to hear.”

You think you answer him—something definitely falls from your lips, a whisper, a babble, a plea—but it must not be the _right_ thing because suddenly he is shifting you, pulling out of you despite your whining protests.

You feel almost painfully empty after warming his cock for so long, but he moves you quickly to lay back down along the bed, murmuring for you to be patient, giving reassurances that he will fill you with his glorious cock once again if only you wait a moment longer.

From his position above you, strands of his braid coming loose as it falls over his shoulder, he looks you over. You are a wondrous gift spread out below him, your cheeks flush with your arousal, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you run your hands down your chest. His lips crook as he follows the action, giving you a smile no one but you has ever been allowed to see—all the way to his eyes, a true smile without a hint of malice or disgust.

“You made it so hard for me,” he tells you, tilting his head to watch the uneven rise and fall of your chest. “So wondrous, hugging my cock so nicely while I worked, keeping it warm just the way I like, tempting me to fuck you ever time you squeezed around me. I want to reward you for being so good, and yet punish you for being so tempting. Which do you think you deserve, little one?”

You swallow, your words catching in your throat for a few seconds before you answer.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say. It’s another whine, one you don’t bother to disguise. Valerius lifts an eyebrow at you.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“I _deserve _to be fucked!” Your fists bunch the sheets as you say it, pressing your hips up toward where his cock is bobbing between you. “I was a good boy, a good pet, I warmed your cock for so long and I didn’t move once. Please! _Please_ fuck me, reward me for being good!”

Seeming satisfied with your words, he shifts forward and reaches down to between your legs, just his fingertips and with barely-there brushes exactly where you want him. His cock—hot, twitching, shining with the mess of you both and the lubricant he had applied—lays against your inner thigh, and he thrusts lazily against it as he leans over your body and kisses you.

“I do so love it when you use your words,” he murmurs against your lips. “I think it is definitely time for your reward.”

And then he is pushing back into you, swallowing every moan and sigh as he begins to fuck you, groaning as you squeeze and contract around him, as the hardness of his body moves and sinks into yours

“My love,” he groans into your neck, a shaking edge to his voice. “My little one, my good boy—will you moan for me? Will you scream? Do you want to squeeze and milk my cock with that tight, wet little hole? Earn it, you must _earn it_, let me hear you scream my name for all to hear.”

And the door is open, and perhaps even if you weren’t insane with lust and from your need to come, and perhaps even if he _wasn’t_ fucking you to within an inch of your life and making you delirious every time the head of his cock hit that perfect spot…perhaps you still would have done it.

“AH! Val—_Valerius_—FUCK—"

“Tell me how good it feels, little one. Tell me how much you love me fucking that tight little hole.”

You do.

“Scream for me.”

Oh, you do.

He croons to you, pushing your hair back from your face as he does. “What a good boy I have pinned and writhing beneath me. Now…let’s give you your final reward.”

He drops his hips, the angle of his cock changing, the head of him dragging along your insides in long, slow pulls that make you feel like you could sob. His hand moves down to find you between your legs, moving in sure and certain touches, his lips whispering praises into your ear as he works you to your orgasm.

And when you come, you feel already so exhausted, and it crashes over you in shivering waves, your eyes closed, Valerius taking your bottom lip between his teeth to suckle gently.

You moan his name like a mantra, your tongue rolling over and over until it’s barely a whisper, until you barely have the breath to give it and you must stop, because you know if forced to choose between breathing and whispering his name, you would not survive the hour.

He pulls out of you when you settle beneath him, your muscles melting back into the lounge, your lids heavy in your daze. His eyes are dark and raking you over as he takes himself in his hand, grunting softly as he fucks it and fucks it until he is coming all over it in jerking movements that stiffen his jaw and rattle his entire body. Some of his seed spills out of his hand and onto your stomach and you moan softly at the sight, still too greedy for any mark of his to be on your body, even in such a sated state.

Exhaling in a long, shaking breath, Valerius drops back to his hands and knees, covering you with his body while he nuzzles into your neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells you. His voice is that wonderful, soft caress he always prefers to give you after he has been mean to you, or after he has made you really _earn_ your reward. “But I think you almost did your job _too _well as my cockwarmer.”

You smile and stretch out beneath him at the praise. He nips at your earlobe before pushing himself back and onto his feet. After wiping his hand on his robe he slips it into yours, taking the other to your hip, and helps you to your feet.

“Are you ready for bed?” He asks. You nod, and he takes the chance to capture your chin between his fingers, his gaze tracing the curve of your lips as he smirks. “Excellent. I’ll draw us a bath to clean you up,” he pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, then gives you a look that has you shaking. “Then we can discuss my plans for you in our bedroom. Perhaps a good few hours of orgasm denial will finally sate my need for you.” 

And then he sweeps you toward the bath, your half-hearted protests and full-hearted moans lost to the sounds of the water crashing as it fills the tub.


End file.
